5. Filthy looks and death stares
5
FILTHY LOOKS AND DEATH STARES
Colin lay in the bed that was his son’s. Naturally, his son wasn’t there. If he had been, Colin wouldn’t be in this bed, or even in this room. He wouldn’t even be in this house, his son disapproved of him that much. Five years. That’s how long it was since they’d last spoken properly. Five years since Will had found out Colin was lying to Netta about his earnings. A silly mistake on his part. He shouldn’t have left his accounts out where anyone could see them. He and Netta were already divorced by then, but she was still paying for everything and he was still officially a stay-at-home dad with no real income. If she’d bothered to take any interest in his work when they were together, she’d have known it was starting to sell. But she didn’t, so who could blame him for not letting on? When it all eventually came out, she’d made a scene and insisted on selling the house. Those secret earnings of his had been enough to help buy her out, so it worked out for the best really. Except that Will refused to have anything to do with him. Arianne blamed Netta for that, but Colin knew his son was a man of principle. Principles were great, providing they didn’t get in your way.
There was a throng of visitors downstairs that he had no inclination to join. He’d been expecting them. Liza had warned him about their Sunday-morning ritual, a gathering of all the people who’d adopted the little dog Maud’s puppies. Apparently, a walk in the park was involved, followed by brunch in Netta’s kitchen. It all sounded very pleasant, if you liked that sort of thing. He’d never been a dog lover. He wasn’t a dog hater either, he just didn’t see the point of them. Or cats for that matter. Mind you, he didn’t see the point of anything at the moment. Not since that message from Arianne . He was still having trouble taking it in. Changed the locks, she’d said. Changed the locks to his doors! How dare she? I mean really, how dare she?
There was a tap on the bedroom door. ‘Dad, we’re heading off now. Will you be okay?’ Dear, sweet Liza. She was the only one that cared.
‘Yes thanks, darling. Have fun.’ He’d added an upbeat lift to that last bit. It was important to sound positive, even if you felt like slitting your wrists.
He heard the front door close and waited until the sound of chatter and laughter drifted away before getting out and sitting on the edge of the bed. God, he ached. He’d had a fall on Thursday evening and the stiffness was really kicking in. He moved slowly towards the dresser and let his fingers linger over the handle of the bottom drawer. Netta had cleared the other drawers out for him, but the bottom one held Will’s things. He pulled it open. There wasn’t much in there, some tatty pants, a few socks, and a sweatshirt. He picked up the sweatshirt and breathed in. It smelled slightly unpleasant. Body odour. Young person’s sweat. Will’s sweat. He wondered if he should put it in the wash. Would anyone thank him for it? Probably not. They’d say he’d been snooping. Technically, they’d be right, but that wasn’t the reason he’d looked. He filled his lungs with the mildly disgusting smell of youth, folded the sweatshirt up, and put it away.
The kitchen was gloriously quiet and still. Sometimes, all Colin wanted was a few moments of stillness. You’d have thought a little thing like that would be a simple enough ask, wouldn’t you? Apparently not. Apparently, such a request was an act of heinous selfishness, punishable by death of a thousand nags. In Arianne’s books anyway. Here, he had stillness coming at him in spades. Especially if he shut himself away in Will’s room.
He made himself an espresso. Netta’s coffee maker was quite decent. Not as top of the range as his own but it was more than adequate. According to Liza, it was Frank’s. Netta had bought it for him. Frank seemed to spend a lot of time round here, which was perhaps why the machine wasn’t in his kitchen. He seemed a nice enough bloke. From Belfast originally but he’d lived here for years, on all accounts. Under normal circumstances they would probably have got on, but Frank was screwing Netta. It shouldn’t bother Colin, but it did.
A whining noise sent him swivelling round a hundred and eighty degrees. He cast his eyes downward and saw the little dog, Maud, sitting by his feet. ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d be out gallivanting with the others.’ He tutted at himself. Talking to animals? Surely he wasn’t that desperate for conversation?
Maud cocked her head to one side, then whined again. She was a cute little thing. If you liked dogs.
The dog went with him into the breakfast room, keeping an eye on him just like the others when they were here. The sun was streaming in through the French windows and the room was bathed in a bright white hue. It was no wonder Frank used his breakfast room as a studio. The light was perfect. It was pretty good in Colin’s own studio at home, but not like this. His studio had been a garage when they’d first moved into the house. The conversion was paid for with one of Netta’s annual performance bonuses. At the time, she’d been Annette Grey, a rising star in the corporate world. He’d been proud of her, but by then, it was already too late to tell her that.
He took the same chair he’d taken on Friday night when he and Netta had sat here and talked. In spite of everything she’d done to him, it had been nice to be with her again, basking in her radiance. Even in the dark, she was radiant. She was never anything but radiant.
The warm and solid body of the little dog pressed against his leg. Huh! How about that? Maybe he had a friend after all. He patted its back and closed his eyes. The sun cloaked his skin and he could feel its stark brightness without the need to open them again. Yes, it would be good to paint in here. If the mere thought of painting again didn’t make you want to run away and hide. He remembered the commissions he had waiting for him at home, some half-finished, some not even started. He should get in touch with his clients and explain there were complications. They’d already been waiting longer than usual due to the other complication. Yesterday, Frank had offered to make room for him next door, so he could start them again. But it was so much effort, and he was tired. Really tired. And anyway, picking up a brush again required more than mere energy.
Something wet and sloppy landed on Colin’s face and woke him up. When he opened his eyes, he saw it was a hairy dog-shaped mammoth slapping a big pink tongue all over his flesh. It wasn’t the other dog that lived in this house, or even Frank’s dog. This was a new one.
‘Buster, behave. Come here. Sorry, mate. It’s Colin, isn’t it?’ A tall, black man with a strong Brummie accent grabbed the dog’s collar. ‘I’m Chris. Neil’s husband. We’re just about to eat. Come and join us.’
The kitchen was full of people, dogs and the smell of something delicious cooking. Sausage and bacon if he wasn’t mistaken. Colin’s stomach did a double somersault. How long had it been since he’d eaten proper sausage and bacon? It felt like a hundred years. He searched the room for a welcoming face other than Chris’s. A fit-looking white guy with tattoos and a shaved head gave him a friendly nod. This, he presumed, was Neil. Colin recognised him from the few times he’d been to Netta’s market stall. He knew everyone else. Unfortunately.
Liza was sitting next to Frank. She broke off from their conversation long enough to cast her eye over Colin’s shabby appearance. ‘Hey, Dad. We didn’t realise you were in there.’
He eased himself onto an empty chair. ‘I must have dropped off.’
Arthur Wilde, his one-time father-in-law, gave him a curt nod. ‘Colin.’
Colin tried a smile, but it wouldn’t come. ‘Hello, Arthur.’ He glanced over to the worktop where his former mother-in-law was making sandwiches side by side with Neil. Colin managed a nod that matched Arthur’s. ‘Geraldine.’
Geraldine returned his greeting with a blank stare. ‘Bacon or sausage?’
‘Or you can have both if you’re really hungry. I’m having both,’ said Chris.
‘Both would be lovely. Thank you.’
‘Tea or coffee?’ said Netta.
‘Er, tea please.’ With the exception of the ex-in-laws everyone was being nice to him. It was a bit disconcerting. Luckily, Geraldine was on hand to add a dose of reality. She smacked a plate down in front of him and threw him a glare that suggested he better not ask for sauce. Colin immediately thought of Arianne and mumbled a thank you. You’d have thought that might have pleased her but no, not Geraldine. The old cow hit him with another filthy look and flounced off to sit by Arthur who was giving him the hard stare. They’d changed since he’d last seen them. Geraldine had always been very dowdy but she must have had one of those make-overs you used to see on TV. She was looking pretty amazing now, especially for her age. Arthur appeared to have upped his game too. Necessity, Colin supposed. He’d tried it himself once when he and Netta were still a couple. Not that she’d noticed. She was too busy shagging the man who never needed to worry about upping his game. Doogie Chambers, Netta’s first, second and probably only love. Poor Frank, he had no idea.
Eventually the ex-in-laws gave up on trying to wear him down with their death stares and joined in the conversation around the table. Colin didn’t say anything. Naturally. He had nothing to add and anyway, they didn’t want him here. They were only putting up with him because they had to. They carried on regardless, as if he was invisible. He ate his sausage and bacon sandwich, drank tea and listened to the banter that flowed easily from one side of the table to the other. Liza was teasing Frank about something, poking fun at him. Anyone would think he was the one who was her dad.
Colin finished the sandwich. He could have happily eaten a second one and possibly a third, but he knew better than to ask. Besides, all this chumminess was making it hard to swallow.
The chair scraped along the floor as he stood up and all heads turned to him. ‘I’d better get properly dressed,’ he said, feeling suddenly exposed. He left the room, before it all got too much.